Four Men's Demons
by Crashing Star
Summary: Micky can't afford to let people close. Mike can't forgive himself for the way things turned out. Peter can't help feeling overwhelmed. Davy can't bring himself to trust anyone. When the four of them meet, it's time for four men's demons to flee as their hosts slowly but surely form a lasting friendship and help each other heal.
1. Micky-with-no-e

Author's notes: This story is, like so many others, a story of how the Monkees met. It gets a bit dark, but I don't think it's _too_ dark. The first eight chapters will be focused on the Monkees lives before they met, two chapters for each Monkee. This first chapter is the first half of Micky's past. Warnings: Mild child abuse.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Monkees, I own only the plot and OC's.

* * *

Micky was confused. He didn't know what was happening. The small apartment was filled with grown ups all wearing matching clothes, his mother was crying, and he was sitting on the couch next to his older brother Paulie, who looked angry.

"Paulie, what's going on?" Micky whispered.

"Shh," Was the only response he got, as a tall man wearing a suit knelt down in front of the two boys.

"Hey, kids," The man said with a small smile. "My name's Jonathan. Are you alright?"

"Yes," Paulie said tersely. "We're both fine. Why are you here?"

Jonathan chuckled sadly. "We got a call," he said, looking at Paulie. "Somebody told us that you two weren't being looked after properly."

"We're looked after just fine," Paulie said. "So you can go away and leave us alone now."

Jonathan looked around at the apartment, which was small and dirty, with a broken window and small cigarette holes in the thin carpet, and he sighed.

"Yeah, well I wish we could just take your word for it," He said, taking a notepad and pencil out of his pocket. "But where'd you get that bruise, son?"

Paulie blinked, and for a second, he looked scared. "I tripped," he said, reaching up and absently touching the small bruise on his cheek.

"No you didn't," Micky said in confusion. "Don't you remember? Mommy got mad..."

Micky trailed off as Paulie nudged him and said "Shh..." Once again.

Jonathan looked at Micky. "And what's your name, kiddo?" He asked. Micky looked at Paulie, who pursed his lips and looked away. Micky turned back to Jonathan. "My name's Micky," He said tentatively.

"Micky, that's a fun name," Jonathan said, writing something down in his notebook. "Like Mickey Mouse?"

Micky smiled. "Yeah," he said. "Like Mickey Mouse."

"Except there's no 'e'," Paulie spoke up.

Jonathan blinked. "No e?" He asked. "...Oh, I get it! You don't spell Micky with an e. That's cool, makes it special."

Micky smiled. "Yeah," He agreed. "Special."

"Tell me, Micky-with-no-e," Jonathan said. "How old are you?"

"I'm five," Micky said.

"No you're not," Paulie said. "You're four. You won't be five until September."

Micky sighed. "I'm _almost_ five," he clarified. "But I'm not a baby!"

"Oh, no, I can see that," Jonathan said. "And what about you?" He asked, turning to Paulie. "What's your name?"

Paulie hesitated. "...Paulie," he said finally. "Paulie Dolenz."

"Alright, Paulie," Jonathan said. "How old are you?"

"I'll be eleven in July," Paulie said.

"Okay," Jonathan said, writing it down. "And it says here you've been removed before, and were in foster care for a year, is that right?"

Paulie nodded sullenly. "They let me come back when I was six, before Micky was born," he said. "They said she was better."

"Who was better, Paulie?" Micky asked. "Where'd you go?"

"Shh," Paulie said.

Micky sighed and folded his arms.

Jonathan chuckled. "It's pretty annoying to be told to shush, isn't it?" He asked.

Micky nodded. He wasn't sure what "annoying" meant, but it sounded bad, and Micky didn't like being told to shush.

Jonathan smiled, then turned back to his notepad. "Alright," he said, his smile disappearing. "Micky, you said your mom got mad before. Does your mom get mad a lot?"

Paulie huffed, and Micky glanced at him before turning back to Jonathan. "Sometimes," he said. "She gets mad sometimes, when she's sick."

"I see," Jonathan said. "And what's she like when she's sick?"

"Oh, you know how she's like when she's 'sick'," Paulie snapped angrily. "What, you gonna make him describe it to you?"

Jonathan sighed. "Sorry, you're right," he said. "Paulie, how often does your mom get 'sick'?"

Paulie glared for a second. "Only sometimes," he said. "Usually she doesn't come back until it's wore off."

"Alright," Jonathan said, writing it down. "That was another thing, the person who called us said that your mother isn't home a lot. They said that she stays away for days sometimes. Is that true?"

Micky nodded. "She's very busy," he said. "Paulie says she has to go to work, to buy food and shoes and stuff."

Paulie looked up at Jonathan. "You know how it is," he said.

Jonathan looked extremely tired for a moment. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah I do, Paulie. You shouldn't have to, is the problem here."

Paulie shrugged. "Someone has to take care of Micky," he said. He blinked a few times, and to Micky's surprise, looked like he was about to cry.

"What's wrong, Paulie?" Micky asked, concerned.

Paulie shook his head. "Nothing," he said. Then he took a deep breath. "I'm fine, Mick. Don't worry about it."

Jonathan looked close to tears himself, then he cleared his throat and turned back to his notepad. "Well boys," he said. "I think I've got everything I need. Hey, Fischer!"

One of the men in the blue coats came over and stood next to Jonathan.

"Hey boys, this is Mr. Fischer," Jonathan said, turning back to Paulie and Micky. "He's gonna give you a ride down to the office while we finish up here, okay?"

"Okay," Micky said, following as Paulie jumped down from the couch and glared at the floor.

"Come on, kids!" Fischer said in an overly-bright voice. "Everything's gonna be okay now!"

Paulie sent his silent fury towards Fischer as he took Micky's hand and they followed the man outside towards a police car. Micky looked at it, he had seen those before, when his mom watched television.

As Fischer lifted Micky into the backseat and Paulie climbed in after him, Micky looked around, and waited until Fischer closed the door before turning to Paulie.

"Paulie," He said in a whisper. "Are we being arrested?"

Paulie let out a scoff. "No," he said bitterly. "We're being removed."

"Oh..." Micky thought that over for a second. "I don't like that word."

"To be honest, I don't either," Paulie said. "Now, shh."

* * *

After a trip to an office, where another man asked the same kind of questions that Jonathan had, they were brought to a house across town for "temporary placement." They were introduced to "Bob and Tammy," who would be taking care of them for a few weeks while "things got sorted out," and were given two lumpy beds in a crowded room upstairs.

Micky sat on his bed and looked around, there were three other boys there already. They were different ages and they all looked different, and they all looked sullen and glared at Micky and Paulie angrily. Micky decided he didn't like any of those boys.

They stayed with Bob and Tammy for three weeks, and Micky was a bit startled at first by the enforcement of rules, and the daily breakfasts and dinners, and when one of the other kids left one day and was replaced about a week later.

After the three weeks with Bob and Tammy, Paulie and Micky were moved to an apartment complex and introduced to Shawn and Harriet, and their lives changed once again. Shawn and Harriet's apartment was small and dirty, and smelled like old cigarette smoke mixed with dirty laundry and the lingering odor of dog urine.

There was one other kid there, a ten year-old boy named Frank, who was Harriet's son. Frank was very mean to Paulie and Micky, he picked on them, he called them names, and he would get into trouble and blame it on Micky. Harriet always believed Frank over Micky, even when Paulie had seen Frank do whatever he was saying Micky had done. Harriet said Paulie was just playing favorites and trying to get his little brother out of trouble.

They were given chores to do as well, which isn't bad in and of itself, but the amount of chores Harriet gave them was bordering on ridiculous. She said they had to earn their keep. Paulie was given the task of keeping the bedrooms and the bathroom clean, as well as washing the dishes and taking out the garbage.

Micky was told to keep trash and clutter out of the kitchen and living room, and he was often told to help Paulie with his chores. He didn't mind, when he wasn't working, he was being bullied by Frank, so he preferred to work anyway.

Then the school year started, and Micky finally started school. He'd always wanted to go to school. In the past, when they'd lived at the apartment, Micky was left alone while Paulie went off to school, after making Micky a lunch to eat later, carefully locking all the doors, and reminding Micky not to open them for anybody, and telling him what to do if someone broke in. Then Micky would entertain himself all day, eat the lunch when he got hungry, and wait for Paulie to get home. Now, he was finally able to go himself.

Micky decided after the first week, however, that he hated school. Some of the kids were nice, and played with him and talked to him, but some of the kids were mean and picked on him, and called him names. The teacher separated the class into different groups, The A group, the B group, the C group, and the D group, and she put Micky in the D group because he didn't know his letters or his numbers or his colors or anything. Even in the D group, the other kids knew more than he did.

And the teacher got exasperated when Micky wouldn't sit still during nap-time when he wasn't tired, or when he talked all through learning time instead of doing his work quietly like the other kids. He ended up in time-out more often than all the other kids, and they all started saying he was a bad kid. Micky didn't want to be a bad kid. He just couldn't sit still or be quiet. He had so many questions he wanted to ask, so many things he wanted to say.

But the teacher didn't seem to understand, and so Micky started to dread school. But he dreaded being at the house even more, so he decided he'd rather be at school by default.

At the house, things started to get worse when Frank started hurting Micky, pinching him or tripping him or shoving him when he walked past. Paulie would have stopped it, but Paulie was usually busy with chores, and he also had homework to do. At first, homework took backseat priority to chores and looking out for Micky, but then one night he brought home an 'F.'

Shawn got mad at that and started yelling at Paulie, calling him ungrateful and stupid. He said that Paulie should be thanking them for taking him and Micky in, and that he should work harder to repay them. He said that if the social worker found out about Paulie's F, they might take them away again, and there was no guarantee they would be placed together next time.

He shouted at Paulie and yelled out words, words that Micky had heard on the televison, but that Paulie had told him he must never repeat. Shawn said that the only reason he and Harriet had even taken them in was for the extra money the state paid them to do it. He said that if it were up to him, Paulie and Micky should have been shipped off to a juvenile detention center, because they were so bad, but he and Harriet had been good enough to take them in, and unless Paulie started working harder, they would make sure the state came and took them away, and he would never see Micky again.

Micky, who was hiding out in their bedroom, heard all of this, and it scared him. He didn't think he could stand it if he never saw Paulie again. Paulie was his brother. Shawn and Harriet couldn't have the power to keep them apart. Could they?

Just in case, Micky resolved to make sure Paulie had time to do his homework, so he could keep his grades at a C level at best. Micky stopped complaining to Paulie about how mean Frank was, or how much he hated school, and Paulie's grades did indeed return to C's and occasionally, a B.

So, life continued on for the two boys, and Micky learned to be more and more independent. He started solving his own problems, and he started taking care of himself.

* * *

After they had been living with Shawn and Harriet for a year and a half, they were taken away again. Paulie said that Harriet told him she didn't want them anymore, because they were too bad, and because she was sick of them lying about Frank.

Micky was glad, he hated living with Shawn and Harriet. He asked Paulie where they were going to go next, and Paulie said he didn't know. He asked Paulie if they were still going to be together, and Paulie swallowed and again, said he didn't know, but that he hoped so.

Luckily, they were placed together once again, this time with a nice family who lived in a big house, and for the first time, Micky was really truly happy.

Their foster parents were a nice couple named Jim and Wanda, and they had three kids of their own, and one other foster kid. The three natural kids were named Jenny, Tyler, and Linda, ages 16, 13, and 11. Tyler was only a few months older than Paulie, and they shared a room. Jenny and Linda shared a room, and Micky shared a room with the other foster kid, a boy named Greg. Greg was a year older then Micky, who was six at this point, but Greg was nice to Micky and shared his toys and welcomed Micky into his room, so Micky decided he liked him.

Jim and Wanda treated all the kids the same, they didn't treat their kids better than Paulie, Greg and Micky. Jim worked at an office downtown, and would sometimes bring home treats to give the kids, and he quickly discovered which kinds of candy Paulie or Micky liked best.

Wanda was nice and fair, she had a set list of rules that she explained to Paulie and Micky when they came, and the rules were written down on a board and hung in the hallway outside all the bedrooms. She also had a chore chart that had all the kids names on it, in a different color for each kid. Micky's was blue. He liked that color.

Each kid had one chore they were supposed to do, and then they were supposed to make their bed, put away their toys at the end of the day, and remember to put all their laundry in the laundry basket every Monday and Friday, which were laundry days. Micky's chore was to set the table for dinner every night, which he did gladly.

Wanda also made sure that all of the kids got to school on time, she drove a big van with enough seats for every kid and the family dog, Brewster. Brewster was a basset hound, and didn't do anything except sit down and stare at you, but all the kids loved him, and even though it was Tyler's chore to walk Brewster every day, most of the time all the kids went together, if the weather was nice.

When Jim came home, he always offered to help with any homework questions, and he was patient and explained things in a way that made it easy to understand. Micky started doing better in school, and although he still had trouble being quiet or sitting still, he didn't get put in time-out as much as he used to, and the teachers stopped calling him a bad kid.

They weren't perfect, of course, nobody's perfect. But they were good, and they really cared, and that made all the difference.

Then one day, after Paulie and Micky had been there for a year, Jim and Wanda seemed especially happy, and they took Greg into the study and talked with him for a long time. Then they called a family meeting, and announced that they had gone through some papers, and had talked to some people, and they had gotten the chance to adopt Greg. They said they'd asked Greg if he wanted to be a part of their family, and Greg said yes.

To celebrate, the whole family went out for pizza and ice-cream. Greg smiled for the entire night.

Later, Micky asked Jim what adopt meant, and Jim told him that adoption was when someone who didn't have parents or someone who'd been taken away from their parents was so loved by a family that their foster parents decided to keep them forever, and become their new real parents.

Micky said that sounded nice, and Jim laughed and said that it was nice, and that he had been adopted when he was a little boy.

Then Micky asked if Jim loved him and Paulie enough to adopt them. Jim smiled and said that he loved them enough, but Micky and Paulie were special, and they weren't up for adoption yet. He promised that he and Wanda would do everything they could to keep them, and they would always love them and treat them like they were adopted, and if they ever were up for adoption, he and Wanda would snap them up as fast as they could.

* * *

Paulie and Micky lived with Jim and Wanda for so long that Micky almost forgot what it was like to live anywhere else. They lived there for two years after Greg got adopted, making it a total of three years. But then Jim and Wanda came to them and told them that the CPS had called and said they were going to take Micky and Paul (as he now preferred to be called) away from them and give them back to their mother. They said that their mother was changed, and would take care of them better now.

Paul got upset and stomped into his room and locked the door. Micky was upset too, but he was more upset that he would have to leave Jim and Wanda. For the rest of the day, he didn't leave their side, and if they were in separate rooms, he stayed with one of them, and watched the doorway for the other.

The other kids were upset to hear the news, and Wanda threw a big good-bye party, with a chocolate cake, and with ice cream and decorations and balloons. Micky asked where she'd gotten all the decorations, and she said she kept a closet of party supplies, just in case.

The kids all gave them goodbye presents, Jenny, who was 19 and going to college, drove home for dinner and brought two packages, one for Paul and one for Micky. Paul's had a watch in it, Jenny said that he was growing up into a fine young man she would always be proud to call her little brother, and she had scratched "P.D." in the back of it with a fork. She said she couldn't afford to get it engraved last minute, so that was the best she could do. Micky's package had a leather jacket inside. He was still small for his age, but she'd gotten it a size big, saying she wanted him to be warm for as long as possible, and she didn't want him to outgrow it too early. She had embroidered his initials on the front pocket, she joked that Paul was the police department and Micky was a medical doctor.

Tyler gave Paul his favorite baseball cap that he wore everywhere, and when Paul tried to tell him to keep it, Tyler said that he wanted Paul to always remember him, and if he didn't take the hat, Tyler would burn it in the fire-place, so Paul took the hat and put it on, promising to always remember him. To Micky, Tyler gave his old lunchbox with prints of superman on it, that he hadn't used for a few years, but had never bothered to get rid of before then.

Linda hadn't been able to find much, she didn't have money like Jenny did, and she didn't have many things of her own that a boy would like, like Tyler did. Finally, she found a small necklace made of a leather cord with a tiger-tooth pendant for Paul, and she gave Micky an old stuffed dog that looked like Brewster.

Greg was probably the most upset out of the other kids, he and Micky had grown pretty close the last three years. He said sadly that he couldn't think of anything he could give them, except a promise that they would always be brothers to him, even if they never saw each other again.

The next day, though, after Micky and Paul were all packed up and waiting for the social worker, Greg suddenly gasped and ran into his room, and came out a few minutes later clutching something dirty and furry in his hand. He gave it to Micky and explained that it was his lucky rabbit's foot, that his real dad had given him when he was little, before he died. He explained that it always had brought him good luck, but that he didn't need it anymore.

Micky thanked him and put it in his pocket, and then the social worker came, and everyone hugged everyone else, and they all had one last laugh as Micky hugged Paul goodbye by accident, and the laughter quickly turned to choking back tears as Paul and Micky were loaded into the car and waved goodbye one last time.

Neither of them said one word the whole way back to the once-familiar apartment, and as they brought their things up the stairs, followed by the social worker, Micky felt the strangest feeling in the pit of his stomach. He barely remembered the apartment, only glimpses, and the few memories he had of the place weren't happy memories. They weren't necessarily bad memories, but they weren't happy either.

They expected their mother to be there waiting for them, so it was no surprise when she opened the door and pulled them both into a hug. No, the real surprise was the curly-haired little girl peeking at them from behind their mother's skirt.

"Mom, who is that?" Paul asked warily.

"Oh, Paulie, I've missed you so much," His mother said instead of answering. "And Micky! My little Micky! Oh... You're not so little anymore, are you?"

Micky tried for a smile. "Hello... mom," he said. It was strange. She was his mother, he knew that, but he hadn't seen her for close to five years. He barely remembered her.

"Mom," Paul said again. "Who's that?"

"Hmm?" She asked absently. "Oh! Paulie, Micky, this is Jane, your baby sister."

Micky gaped. What? He had a baby sister now? He sputtered illegibly for a moment and Paul groaned. "How old is she?" He asked.

"Jane, tell your new brothers how old you are," Their mother prompted the little girl, who looked shyly up at the two boys and held up three fingers.

"Three, she's three," Paul said worriedly. "She wasn't twins, was she?"

"No, it's just her," Their mother said. "Why, Paulie, what's the matter? Don't you like Jane?"

Paul sighed and looked at his mother. "Of course I like Jane," he said. "That's not the issue here." Their mother looked about to press the issue further, but thought better of it and shut her mouth.

Paul knelt down and smiled at Jane. "Hello, Jane," he said quietly. "I'm Paul. I'm your brother, and I'll be staying here with you for awhile, alright?"

Jane hesitated, than nodded.

Micky looked at their mother. "Doesn't she talk?" He asked her.

Their mother worried her bottom lip. "N-not really," she said. "Sometimes she makes noises, and she'll laugh occasionally, but usually, she just sort of points..."

Paul sighed before motioning Micky to come down and say hi.

Micky knelt down in front of the little girl, next to Paul, and smiled. "Hello, Jane," he said, quietly, like Paul had done. "I'm your brother, too. My name's Micky."

A flash of recognition sparked in the little girl's eyes, and Micky smiled, excited. "What, what is it?" He said. "Was it my name? Did you like my name?"

The little girl nodded and smiled shyly. "She liked my name!" Micky exclaimed excitedly. "It was my name! Micky! Just like Mickey Mouse! Do you like Mickey Mouse?"

Jane smiled bigger and nodded again.

"That's great!" Micky exclaimed. Then he suddenly slipped his voice into a few octaves higher, and started talking as if he were Mickey Mouse. "Hiya, Jane!" He said. Jane started to giggle quietly. "Micky's the name! Just like Mickey Mouse! Except I don't spell my name with an e. I'm Micky-with-no-e..."

He trailed off as he remembered that day, so many years ago, and then he looked up and saw that his mother and Paul were looking down at him in surprise, and they were smiling. Micky chuckled nervously. "Heh," he said. "I'm just... being Mickey Mouse..."

"Golly, Mick," Paul said. "When did you learn to do that!?"

"I don't know," Micky said. "I haven't seen that show in years. I just started. It was easy."

"You sounded just like Mickey Mouse," Paul said in disbelief.

Micky smiled. "Well, if Jane liked it..." He said. "What'd'ya think, Jane, did ya like it?"

Jane smiled and nodded, and Micky smiled up at Paul. "There you have it," he said. "Jane liked it."

Micky smiled back at Jane. Life might be changing again, and probably not for the better, but he had his lucky rabbit's foot, and he could always make Jane smile by being Mickey Mouse.


	2. Mike Turned Right

Seven-year-old Mike sighed and sat against the wall of the school building, slowly opening his brown paper lunch and pulling free the sandwich from inside. As he was about to take a bite, he was suddenly aware of someone walking towards him, and he looked up.

It was a girl, with shoulder-length black hair and a green dress, also holding a brown paper bag, and she was smiling at him.

She plopped down next to him and sighed, also pulling a sandwich from her bag. "What'd'you get?" She asked him.

"Uh... what do you mean?" He asked her.

She rolled her eyes. "What'd'you get?" she repeated. "Bologna, salami, peanut butter, what's in your sandwich?"

"Oh," Mike said. "Um, It's just cheese. It's a cheese sandwich."

"Really?" The girl asked. "Lucky! My mom never puts cheese on my sandwich. She says she can't afford it. I'm stuck with salami."

Mike looked down at his sandwich. He would give anything for some meat for lunch. "Well," he said. "We could put 'em both together. We'd each get half a salami and cheese sandwich, instead of me only gettin' cheese and you only gettin' salami."

The girl laughed. "What do we do with the extra bread?" She asked.

Mike smiled. "I don't know," he said. "Make a bread sandwich?"

The girl laughed again. "Okay," she said. "Let's do it."

As they disassembled and reassembled their respective sandwiches, the girl looked up at Mike. "I'm Ebby Rogers," she said. "Ebby's short for Rebecca. I'm new here. I'm in the second grade."

"Really?" Mike asked. "I'm in the second grade too. My name's Mike Nesmith. Mike's short for Michael."

"Neat," Ebby said. "Let's be best friends!"

Mike smiled. School had definitely just got more interesting. "Alright," he said. "We'll be best friends."

* * *

"Hey, Mike, you ever seen a rhinoceros laugh?"

That question, asked by Ebby in the fourth grade, led to the most exciting and frightening day in young Mike Nesmith's life.

"No, I can't say as I have," He'd answered in confusion.

"Then come with me," she'd responded, grabbing his hand and running off. He'd followed, of course. One reason being as he was genuinely curious about this laughing rhinoceros, and the other being Ebby had hold of his arm, and she had a grip like no other girl Mike had ever met.

They ran all the way to the zoo, and dodged past the security guard, who was investigating the mysterious rock that found it's way to a bush next to him, causing a loud rustling noise.

Once they were safely in the zoo, they walked slowly, looking at all the animals, until they got to the Rhinoceros exhibit.

The beast was doing what rhinoceros's usually do while in containment, he was entertaining himself in whatever way seemed pleasing to him.

They stood and watched for a few minutes before Mike turned to Ebby.

"So how do you make him laugh?" He asked.

Ebby turned to him. "Darned if I know," she said. "I just wondered if you'd seen it."

Mike looked at her. "Well, what'd we come all the way here for if you weren't gonna make him laugh?" He asked.

"Hey, let's try it!" Ebby had said.

Mike glanced at the rhinoceros. "How're you gonna do that?" He asked.

Ebby looked around. "Well, first let's try to get his attention," she said. Picking up a small pinecone, Ebby tossed it in the air a few times to get used to it's weight, than she chucked it at the rhinoceros. The pinecone bounced off of the wrinkled grey hide, and nothing happened.

"Huh," Ebby said. "That should've worked. Maybe it wasn't heavy enough."

"Ebby, I don't think this is such a good idea," Mike cautioned.

"Nonsense," Ebby declared, turning and looking around the ground. "You haven't even heard my idea yet!"

"You're going to throw a rock at a rhinoceros," Mike said dryly.

Ebby paused. "Huh," she said. "You do know what I was thinking."

"And it's not going to work," Mike said. "We should just go look at the monkeys or something."

"Aha!" Ebby said, picking up a small rock and holding it in the air triumphantly.

"Ebby..." Mike said again, but Ebby turned back to the Rhinoceros and threw the rock at him. The rock bounced off the animal's hide, but the rhinoceros gave a small roar of surprise and turned around as quickly as it could.

"It worked!" Ebby squealed. "Hey! Let's tell it a joke!"

"Ebby, it's a rhinoceros," Mike said. "It's not going to laugh at a joke."

"Well, tell one anyway," Ebby said. "It might work."

"Ebby, I'm not going to tell a rhinoceros a joke," Mike said.

"Fine, then I will!" She retorted. Then she turned to the rhinoceros. "Once upon a time," She said. "There was a boy named Michael Nesmith. He never told any jokes as long as he lived, and when he was an old grouchy man, he realized he'd forgotten how to smile. The end!"

"That wasn't a joke, that was a story," Mike said. "And it wasn't even a good story."

"Oh, like you could tell a better joke!" Ebby said.

"I can, and you're not gonna trick me into telling one for a rhinoceros," Mike said.

"Come on, Mike," Ebby said. "I wanna see a rhinoceros laugh!"

Mike sighed. "Well, a joke's not going to work," he said.

Ebby held perfectly still, and she looked down at the ground, frowning in concentration. Mike knew that look. It meant she'd suddenly been struck with a very, very bad idea.

"No," he said. "Whatever it is, no."

"Mike," she said, looking up at him and tilting her head. "Are rhinoceros's ticklish?"

"What!?" Mike exclaimed, his eyes bulging. "No! Never! Absolutely not! They're not ticklish at all! Don't you dare go into that pen! Ebby, stop! Come back!"

But by that point, Ebby had climbed over the shorter fence separating them from the larger fence, and with a slight jump, she grabbed hold of the top of the larger and began hoisting herself over it.

"Hey!" Mike yelled, but the zoo was fairly empty. "HEY! Help! She's climbing into the rhinoceros pit!"

Ebby lowered herself over the fence and let go, dropping to the extremely steep dirt wall that led down into the pit.

Mike looked around, there didn't seem to be anyone coming. So he ran over and jumped the short fence. "I swear, Ebby," he said. "If we both get killed, I'm never speaking to you again!"

"No duh," she said with a smile as he climbed over the second fence and lowered himself over it. She waited until he dropped down and slid down the dirt wall until he was standing next to her. "Welcome to the party," she said.

"Tell me straight up," Mike said. "What are the chances of me persuading you to give up on this whole laughing rhinoceros idea?"

"I'm not leaving until he's laughing," Ebby said with a grin.

Mike sighed. "Fine," he said. "I'll tickle the rhinoceros. You get back up on the other side of the fence and call 911."

"What?" Ebby said, pouting. "Why do you get to have all the fun!?"

"Ebby," Mike said, staring at her. "I'm probably going to die because of this. It's not going to be fun."

"HEY!" They heard. Looking up, they both saw one of the animal trainers glaring down at them. "Are you kids crazy?! What are you doing down there!?"

"Sir, she is crazy," Mike called up desperately. "She jumped the fence so she could tickle the rhinoceros. I'm trying to talk her out of it!"

The man gaped. "Hold very still," he said. "I'll be right down to get you out."

With that, he disappeared. "You heard him," He said. "Don't move."

Ebby rolled her eyes and began walking towards the rhinoceros.

"Ebby!" Mike called desperately. "He said to hold still!"

"I'm walking straight in front of him," Ebby said over her shoulder. "That's his blind spot. He can't see me."

"Oh yeah?" Mike said. "How are you going to tickle him standing in his blind spot?"

Ebby froze. "You know, I'm beginning to think this wasn't such a good idea," she said.

Mike paused. She didn't sound like she'd seen his reasoning, more like she'd suddenly gotten scared. "Uh, it isn't," he said. "How about you back away slowly over to me?"

Ebby took a tentative step back. The rhinoceros snorted.

"Ebby," Mike said. Ebby took another step back. The side-door opened quietly and the animal trainer stepped into the pit. "Hey, big guy," he said calmly, distracting the rhinoceros. Ebby turned and ran.

"Kid, no!" The trainer yelled, but it was too late. With his head turned the other way, the rhinoceros was startled by the sudden movement and went into a frenzy.

With a roar, the rhinoceros backed up quickly and began to break into a run.

Mike's mouth went dry. He wanted to yell, but couldn't.

The trainer began yelling, though. He jumped into view of the rhinoceros and began just yelling loud noises, no words, while waving his arms and jumping. The rhinoceros paused, confused, and Ebby ran back over to Mike, who finally found his voice.

"Quick," he said, cupping his hands together. "I'll give you a boost. You've got to get out of here."

"But what about you?" She said.

"I'll be fine," Mike insisted. "Especially if you pull me up after you get out."

That seemed to convince Ebby, and she put her bare foot into Mike's hand.

"Jump," he commanded, pushing her up as fast as he could, while she pushed up from the ground with her other foot. She jumped out of his hands when she got high enough, and grabbed the top of the larger fence.

She swung for a second before pulling herself up and turning to Mike.

Then she seemed to realize that even though Mike was already taller than average, he was still only nine and wasn't tall enough to jump to the top of the fence without a lift.

"Mike," she called down. "What are you going to do?"

"Escape through the side door now that you're safe," Mike called back.

"You tricked me!" Ebby yelled, before her face went white. "Mike!" She yelled, and Mike turned around just in time to dive out of the way of the rhinoceros, who ran straight into the dirt wall.

Mike stumbled to his feet and began running in the general direction of the trainer, who was running towards him. "Kid," the trainer said. "Get to the side door and yell when you get there."

"Yes sir," Mike said, and took off for the side door. Once he got there, he turned back and saw the trainer generally dodging the rhinoceros. "I'm in!" Mike yelled.

The trainer dodged one last time and then took off running for the side door, the rhinoceros chasing after him.

Mike wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn't. As soon as the trainer cleared the door, Mike slammed it shut behind him.

There was a loud thud, and the little tunnel Mike found himself in shook, but the door held.

The trainer paused to catch his breath, then he turned to Mike. "Are you hurt?" The trainer asked.

"No sir," Mike said.

"Good." With that, the trainer grabbed Mike's arm and led him out of the tunnel and out into the rest of the zoo. They were met by Ebby, who had run all the way from the exhibit to see them. Together, they were taken to the offices and officially met the manager of the zoo.

They were banned from the zoo for life and Ebby's mother was called, as well as Mike's aunt Kate. It took three weeks for Mike to stop having nightmares about Ebby being impaled by a rhinoceros, and she once told him that she had felt the same way about him.

"When I was on that fence and it charged you,"she said. "I swore if you died I would never speak to myself again, on account of you couldn't have done it yourself."

But, the adventure was over, and if anything good came out of it, it was that Mike and Ebby had grown closer as friends, and a little wiser as well.

* * *

The first day of Seventh grade was a strange one, starting when Ebby showed up for school with white hair.

"Ebby, what happened to your hair!?" Mike exclaimed when he saw her.

She smiled. "Bleached it," she said. "I decided I wanted to try something new, and my mom said we couldn't afford dye, so I diluted some bleach and bleached my hair."

Mike looked at her hair, although the ends were bleached white, she had about an inch of black where the roots were.

She sighed. "Don't worry," she said. "I know it looks awful. My mom says I have to keep it like this until she can afford black hair dye. She said maybe this'll teach me a lesson about obedience or something. I don't know what she's talking about."

Mike laughed. "Well," he said. "Until then, I guess life's just going to be interesting for the two of us."

"You said it," she said with a grin. "I've already had 3 people ask me which of my grandmothers I'm trying to impersonate. I told them I was aiming for theirs, but couldn't manage to wreck my face enough. You're meeting them after lunch. Apparently, it's rude to insult someone's grandmother."

Mike chuckled. "No kidding," he said as they made their way to class.

When they reached the doors, he paused. A bad feeling was forming in his gut. "You weren't bein' serious, were you?"

* * *

Mike came to in the nurses office. Aunt Kate was there, looking worried and angry, and talking to the nurse. As soon as his aunt saw he was awake, all the worry flashed to the surface for a second, then disappeared completely, replaced by the angry expression. "Michael Nesmith," she said. "You wanna tell me why the principle had to call me and tell me that you were knocked out in the nurse's office after fighting three boys!?"

Mike opened his mouth, than closed it again. He sighed. "No, I don't think I have a good explanation for that," he said.

Aunt Kate blinked. "You sassin' me?" She asked him.

Mike shook his head. "No ma'am," he said. "I just really have no explanation this time."

Aunt Kate frowned for a second, then understanding dawned on her face. "Ebby Rogers?" She asked.

Mike nodded once. "Ebby Rogers," he said.

Aunt Kate huffed. "I swear, that girl'll be the death of you sometime," she said. "Why is it that when you and Ebby are together, she convinces you to get involved in her hair-brained schemes and you get hurt? Why can't it ever be that when you two are together, you convince her to act like a sane person and you both stay safe?"

"I really don't know," Mike said. "Try askin' her that."

Aunt Kate sighed. "Maybe I will," she said. "Now, next time you get in a fight with three boys, and I tell you right now, you'd better not, but next time you do, keep your wits about ya, hey? You're grandad'd be mighty ashamed if he knew you let those kids take you on so easily. You're a Nesmith. Start acting the part, ya hear?"

Mike chuckled. "Yeah, I hear ya, Aunt Kate," he said. "Don't get into any more fights, and next time I'm in a fight, come out on top."

Aunt Kate smiled. "Smart boy," she said.

* * *

"Mike! Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike!" Mike looked up from his homework, which he was doing on the floor of his bedroom, and waited as Ebby appeared in his doorway and stood there, her hands on her hips, scowling down at him.

"Yeah, Ebby, what's happenin'?" Mike asked, blinking. Had he done something wrong?

"What's happenin'?" Ebby hissed. "You ask me _what's happenin'_? I just found out _what's happenin'_!"

"Um, okay," Mike said. "...What's happenin'?"

"I just found out you're not having a party!" Ebby exclaimed.

Mike blinked a few times. Party? Why would he be having a... Oh.

"Ebby, I don't like parties," he said for the millionth time since he'd known the fiery young girl.

"But next month's your sixteenth birthday!" Ebby insisted. "Everyone has to have a party when they turn sixteen!"

"Well, maybe I'm not everybody," Mike said, turning back to his homework.

"Oh no," Ebby said determinedly. "You're having a party, Robert Michael Nesmith, or my name isn't Rebecca Rogers!"

Mike glanced up at her and did a double take. "Why, hello there, Lucille Ball!" He said, feigning surprise. "I didn't see you come in! Please, make yourself at home!"

Ebby frowned, but he could tell there was laughter in her eyes. "You're hopeless," she said. Then she turned around and stormed down the hallway and out of the house.

Mike smiled and turned back to his homework, but he couldn't focus anymore. He just kept thinking about Ebby. Her long hair was all black again, she usually kept it out of her face with a headband, letting the rest of it hang down to her waist. She had big brown eyes that sparkled mischievously whenever she was planning something, which was often, and they were framed in long black eyelashes.

Her lips were naturally rosy, and sometimes Mike got the impulse to just lean over and give her a quick kiss, just to see what she would do. It was horribly cliche and Mike knew it, but he was hopelessly in love with his best friend. He'd never tell her, heavens no. But it was true. Every time he saw her, she seemed to get more beautiful, and it was all he could do to keep quiet and not ruin their friendship with talk of love.

After all, they were only fifteen. True, they would be sixteen soon, but even then, it was a little young for love. So many teenage relationships ended in heartbreak, and Mike didn't want that to happen with Ebby. He would wait until they were at least seventeen. Then, if the time felt right, he would tell her how he felt about her.

And he would pray that she felt the same way about him.

* * *

"Happy birthday, Mike!"

Mike smiled and let Ebby into the house. "Come on in," he said. "We were just about to eat dinner."

"Let me guess," Ebby said. "You're having something boring, like fried fish, or baked chicken with no sauce?"

"Nope," Mike said with a smile. "I may not like a party, but Aunt Kate still likes to spoil me on my birthday."

"Darn right," Aunt Kate said, stepping into the main room. "Come into the kitchen, kids, I made steak."

"Ooh, fancy!" Ebby said, raising her eyebrows and looking impressed. She followed Mike into the kitchen, which was surprisingly empty. "Where are all your crazy cousins?" She asked Mike.

"Oh, you mean Jed and Obie and Lucy and Benjamin and Clara and Reese and Samuel?" Aunt Kate said. "I packed em' on down to their grandma's for a visit. I can't afford to make steak and mashed potatoes for all them _and_ you two!"

Ebby laughed. "Well, it sure is quiet," she said. "I'm not sure if I should whisper or not. This kitchen usually feels like a war-zone."

"Well, not today," Aunt Kate said.

As Aunt Kate was pulling the steaks out of the oven, Ebby gasped. "Oh, I almost forgot," she said. "I brought you a present!"

"A present?" Mike asked. "I thought you had no cash."

"Oh, be quiet," Ebby said, hitting Mike's shoulder playfully. "My skills aren't limited to causing trouble, you know."

Aunt Kate turned and raised her eyebrows at Mike, but Ebby was too busy pulling something out of her bag to notice.

"Here it is," she said, handing Mike a lumpy brown parcel.

"Oh, wow!" He exclaimed, eyes wide as he examined it. "It's paper! Look, Aunt Kate, Ebby got me brown paper for my birthday!"

"Very nice, I simply must know where you found some on such short notice," Aunt Kate said.

"Haha,' Ebby said dryly. "Come on, Mike, open it!"

Mike tore the paper open and pulled something green out of the bag. "It's a hat," he said in surprise.

Ebby smiled proudly. "Yep," she said.

"It's really neat," Mike said, examining the hat closely. "You knitted this yourself?"

"Mm-hmm," Ebby said.

"Yeah, it's real nice..." Mike said. "Ebby, we live in Texas, right?"

Ebby frowned. "What kinda question is that!?" She asked. "Of course we live in Texas!"

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Mike said. "So... Why'd you make me a winter's cap again?"

Ebby blinked. "Oh..." She said.

Mike chuckled. "Don't get me wrong, I love it," he said. "I was just wondering, is there any reason in particular you chose to make me this hat?"

Ebby sighed. "It's the only thing I know how to make besides a scarf," she admitted.

Mike threw his head back and laughed. "Well, then, thank you for the hat," he said after he was finished. "I'm really glad I didn't get a scarf."

"Put it on," Ebby said excitedly.

Mike sighed and obliged. "Not only do we live in Texas, but summer's barely over," he said. "And here I am putting on a wool hat. The things I do for you, Ebby..."

"And the things you'd better keep on doing," Ebby said with a smile. "I'm going to develop an inferiority complex unless I see you wearing that hat often."

"You are not," Mike said. "You just like saying inferiority complex. You think it makes you sound important."

"Maybe I do," Ebby said. "But either way, you're gonna wear that hat as often as you can stand it. Or I might have to take drastic measures."

"Just how drastic are we talking?" Mike asked warily.

Ebby just smiled, and picked up her fork, as Aunt Kate set the plates down on the table.

* * *

Mike sat in his room and plucked at his guitar, he had gotten it last month and was practicing it non-stop. He still wasn't any good, and the guitar was an old beat-up thing he'd got for ten dollars in a yard sale, but he was determined to learn to play.

Right now, he was still trying to get down a basic strumming rhythm, and he only knew three chords. But if he worked hard enough, and practiced long enough, then maybe one day he would be able to write beautiful music, for Ebby.

That was the reason he was so determined to play the guitar. Ebby loved music, she spent every penny she earned on music, and she loved the guitar the most of all. She'd bought a new record, and was playing it, and she said that she loved hearing the sound of the guitar, and then she turned and smiled at Mike, and she'd said he'd make a great country singer, if he only knew how to play an instrument. Then she'd told him to learn to play the guitar.

Mike had said it would be hard. Ebby had laughed and told him to do it anyway. Mike had said he probably wouldn't be able to figure it out. Ebby had said he'd better try, or he'd have her to answer to. Mike had said he just wasn't good enough to be a singer. Ebby had gotten angry and said he was good enough for her, he was good enough for anybody.

Mike realized he'd stopped playing, and was lost in his thoughts. He was good enough for her. He was good enough for her? No. She deserved the best. Mike wasn't the best. Ergo, he wasn't good enough. But he would try his hardest. Maybe someday, he would be lucky enough to have her love, even if he wasn't good enough for it.

Mike sat in his room and plucked at his guitar.

* * *

"Hey, Mike, Billy asked me to go to Homecoming with him. Do you think I should go?"

Those words tore Mike up inside, but he didn't show it.

"Depends," he said calmly. "Do you like him?"

He looked her in the eye and she looked back defiantly. "Yes, I think I do," she said. "But I want your opinion. Say, I turned him down. What other choice do you think I would have? Homecoming is less than three weeks away. I'm lucky Billy asked me. He just broke up with Sarah, so I'm a rebound, but that's better than nothing."

"Nobody else asked you?" Mike asked, surprised and confused. Why hadn't anyone else asked Ebby to the dance? She was the prettiest girl in their school.

"Nobody I found worth accepting," Ebby said.

Mike was at a loss for words. "Well, uh..." He said. "Then, I guess, if you think you... like Billy, and nobody else worth accepting asked you, then you should go for it."

Ebby was silent, as if she were waiting for something, and then she huffed. "Fine," she said. "I'll tell Billy tomorrow that I'll go with him to the dance."

She got up and left, leaving Mike bewildered as to why she seemed so angry with him. He would never understand women. He thought he'd given her advice, he thought he'd told her to do what would be best for her, no matter how it made him feel. Maybe he'd thought wrong.

* * *

Mike showed up at Homecoming dateless, of course. There was no one in the world for him but Ebby, and she was here with Billy.

Mike had almost decided not to go, because he didn't want to see Ebby and Billy together, but the crazy idea that maybe Ebby would offer to dance with him, maybe if Billy was busy at the time, made him don his second-hand tux and drive his pick-up to the high school.

Mike spent the entire night searching the crowd for Ebby, but he didn't spot her. He finally found Billy halfway through the night, and managed to corner him and get Ebby's location out of him.

"Rebecca?" Billy had answered. "We called it off last week. Sarah wanted to get back together, so I called Rebecca and she said it was fine. I don't know where she is, I haven't seen her. Maybe she stayed home?"

Mike was stunned. Billy had gotten a chance to go to homecoming with Ebby and had chosen Sarah instead? Sarah was pretty, but she was common. Shoulder length blonde hair, baby-blue eyes, she had no depth of character at all. Ebby had a beautiful soul full of spirit, she ought to have had guys clamoring around to take her to homecoming.

Without Ebby there, the rest of the dance held no attraction for Mike, so he left soon after his conversation with Billy, and as he drove back home, he paused at the intersection, seriously considering going down to Ebby's house to cheer her up. I mean, she had said she liked Billy. Maybe she was upset that he'd gone with Sarah instead of her.

It was very tempting, Mike could drive the few short blocks to Ebby's house, he could stop and pick some wildflowers in the empty lot on the way there. He could ring the doorbell and surprise her. He could hand her the flowers and ask her to dance, right there on the front step.

She would laugh and say she wasn't wearing a dress; he would tell her she looked beautiful no matter what she wore. She would tell him that they had no music; he would answer that they could dance to the music of the stars. Then they would go out into the garden and they would dance, and he could tell her that he... liked her, and wanted to be more than a best friend.

Mike stayed there at the intersection for ten minutes, trying to get the nerve to turn left and drive down to Ebby's house. But he couldn't do it. He finally turned towards his own house and drove home with a heavy heart and with a promise. Next year. Next year, when they were 17 and going into senior year, he would tell her. Then they would go to their own homecoming, and neither of them would be the rebound.


	3. Things Peter Remembers

_Author's note: If this chapter is confusing, don't worry, that was the intended affect. Just try and roll with it. Warning: Mentions of child abuse._

* * *

Peter remembered waking up to the sound of yelling and screaming, he couldn't have been more than six at the time. He'd been scared at first, not realizing who it was that was yelling, and then he had been terrified as soon as he recognized their voices. He rolled over so he could face the wall of his room, with his back to the door, and he pulled the blanket up over his eyes and plugged his ears with his fingers, but he couldn't block out the sound, he couldn't miss a single word.

He remembered certain phrases, a few stuck out in his memory more than others. He remembered fragments, he remembered his mother yelling for his father to shut up, and at one point, he remembered hearing one of them say the unfortunate words "I hate you."

He remembered that it seemed to last forever, and he remembered hearing the front door slam and the car driving away, and then he remembered hearing his parent's bedroom door slam and his mother rage and scream and cry some more on he own.

He remembered being afraid that his dad wouldn't come back, and he'd asked his mother in the morning where he'd gone. He remembered his mother telling him to be quiet and not ask about that son-of-a-word Peter had never heard before.

Peter remembered coming home from school and seeing the family car parked in the driveway, and he remembered feeling a surge of hope. Perhaps last night had been a fluke. Perhaps everything was still alright.

* * *

Peter remembered the day his dad came home early, and announced that he'd lost his job. Peter was eight years old at the time, he remembered that because they ended up moving right before his eight birthday. Peter remembered the months leading up to the move, how at first, they just had to cut back on things like sweets or toys, but how one day, his mom had gone through the house and sold most of their stuff out on the lawn. He remembered her packing up everything that was left, and he remembered sitting in the back seat of their car, watching the trees go by out the window while his parents bickered in the front seat.

He remembered when they got to Connecticut and brought the boxes into the small apartment they now called home, and he remembered being so tired that his dad had picked him up and carried him into the house. He remembered falling asleep on the couch in the middle of the living room.

* * *

He remembered his first day of school, how the teacher made him stand in front of the class and say his name in front of of all the kids. He remembered how later, one of the kids pushed past him in the hallway, and another kid had knocked his books out of his hand. He couldn't remember now what made them pick on him out of everyone in the class. Maybe it was because he had come in half-way through the school year.

* * *

He remembered when his mother got a day-job as a secretary to help pay for their expenses. He remembered how she hated it, and how she came home every day tired and irritable. He remembered her telling him she had a headache, and snapping at him to be quiet whenever he talked too much or asked questions.

He remembered the first time she slapped him, it wasn't very hard, she just reached over and popped him on the mouth, but he was stunned into silence. He remembered she sighed then, and said maybe now he'd know to stop pestering her with foolish questions.

* * *

Peter remembered seeing his dad for the first time in a week, and asking where he'd been all this time. He remembered his dad explaining that he had to work afternoons at his new job, so he was at home when Peter was at school, and he went to work before Peter got home.

Peter remembered noting how tired his dad looked, and how whenever Peter asked him to help him with his homework or something like that, his dad would say "Not right now, Peter, I'm very tired." So Peter stopped bothering him. He didn't want to be a pester or a bother.

* * *

He remembered one of the kids at school locking him in the janitor's closet one day. He remembered being stuck for what seemed like hours, even though it was probably only an hour at the most. He remembered trying desperately to get out at first, then he remembered sitting down against the wall to wait. He remembered thinking someone would come looking for him eventually.

* * *

He remembered when his teacher asked him to stay after class, and said she'd called his parents and told them he was being bullied. He remembered being surprised that she'd found out, he hadn't told anyone.

He remembered his mother telling him later to suck it up and drive on, he could make it through the end of the school year and they would send him to a public school next year.

* * *

He remembered that summer, having his dad home during the day and his mom home during the evening, and having them both tell him to be quiet so they could rest. He remembered waking up in the middle of the night hearing them fight. Apparently, they fought all night when they were both home together, which was why they were so tired during the day when they were alone.

He remembered thinking it would be funny to see their faces if he were to go out there and tell them to be quiet so he could get some rest.

* * *

The first day at the public school, he didn't have to stand in front of the class and introduce himself, so that was good. But he didn't introduce himself to anyone on his own either, so he just sat in the back of the classroom, watching all the kids.

During recess, one kid came up to him and asked him his name. Peter told him, and the kid invited him to come play a game with him and some other boys, because they needed an extra. Peter agreed and went with him, but nobody really connected with him. He became their extra, they would ask him to play when they needed him, but usually, he was left sitting against the wall of the school.

* * *

Peter had a homework question once, and he took it to his mom, who told him to be quiet and not bother her. So Peter put his homework in his backpack and set off to find the library. He knew there had to be one somewhere. After wandering around for a little while, he spotted a policeman. His teacher always said that if they ever needed help, they could ask a policeman. So Peter went up to him and asked him for directions to the library. The policeman asked him what he was doing in the middle of the city on his own, and Peter told him he was looking for the library. So the policeman drove him to the library, and told Peter to stay with a grownup next time he wanted to walk anywhere.

Peter remembered thinking that such a thing wasn't going to happen anytime soon, but he just thanked the officer and went into the library.

After that, whenever Peter had a question or a problem with his homework, he walked down to the library, and asked the librarian. She would answer his questions, and help him find easy to read books about some of the things he showed an interest in.

* * *

Peter remembered hearing his dad come home at night, to find the house a mess, the sink piled high with dirty dishes, and his wife waiting for him. Peter remembered hearing them fight almost on a nightly basis, his mother complaining about having to work, and hating Connecticut, and wanting to go back to her old home.

His dad would come back with complaints about how dirty the house was, and how he hadn't had a home-cooked meal in weeks, and how he was sick of hearing her nag him about moving to Connecticut.

The complaints would turn into arguments, the arguments would turn into fights, the fights would turn into screams, and Peter would lie awake in bed and wish that they would both just stop fighting and love each other again.

Eventually, one of them would go too far, and the other would leave, either his dad would go for a drive and slam the front door behind him, or his mother would go into the bedroom and slam the door behind her.

His dad started staying at work later and later to avoid coming home, and his mother got increasingly angry at how late his dad stayed out and would become furious with him before he even made it through the front door. Peter remembered sometimes when he would hear one of them say something about how much they hated the other, he would hear his mother say she wished his dad would die, he would hear his father yell that he wished he'd never met her, that he hated her.

Peter started hating going to bed. He began to associate bed with yelling, sleep with screams. Sometimes he would work himself up to such a state that he couldn't even sleep, because he knew as soon as he closed his eyes, he would be woken up by the sounds of their arguments. He remembered lying awake for hours before finally drifting off to sleep, only to be awakened by the sounds of them fighting.

* * *

Peter remembered the first time he noticed his mother had a bruise on her face. She told him she'd gotten it by tripping over something at work, and hitting her face as she fell. But Peter knew better. He'd heard the fight the night before. He'd heard the screams suddenly stop and he'd heard the sound of his mother crying. Peter was actually a very smart kid. He put the pieces together.

He never told his mom he knew what had happened, he didn't want to admit it to himself. He simply went to bed and cried himself to sleep that night.

* * *

Then Peter's dad lost his job and life took a major turn for the worse. Peter's mother now had to work full time as a secretary and would come home frustrated and angry. His dad would spend most of the day hunting down jobs and also come home frustrated and angry. The two of them would get frustrated and angry with each other, and would bicker with each other for most of the evening, so frustrated and angry that they didn't even seem to notice Peter at all. Peter began spending most of his time in his room, sitting on his bed with his eyes squeezed shut and his hands over his ears, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong and he couldn't hear any yelling, and they were back in their old house, and it was quiet and peaceful, and his mother was singing him a song.

* * *

He remembered throwing himself into his studies in an attempt to escape the tension in his house and the thoughts in his head, which were filled now with the sounds of yells and screams and hateful words spoken out of turn. He practically lived at the library, talking with the librarian, a wonderful old woman hailing from Ireland, who told him stories about the amazing places of the world, and the fascinating history of the countries around them, and the new and strange world of the animal kingdom. She made stories come alive, and Peter listened to her and dreamed of one day seeing such things for himself.

He started music class at his school, and the teacher said he had real talent. Peter got some books on music out of the library and began studying all the great musicians, and learning to read music.

But when he wasn't at school or at the library, Peter was forced to accept the new reality he lived in. And he hated it.

* * *

Peter remembered the first time his dad hit him, he'd found a job that was even worse than his last one, and had taken to drinking away his frustrations.

He came home that night moderately drunk, and his wife was waiting for him with quite a few choice words to say to him. He told her to shut up and leave him alone for one blessed moment of his life, so he could finally have a break from her nagging. She began to cry and said that he didn't love her anymore, and the fight was on.

Peter was in his room, trying to ignore it. But in a moment of sheer hopelessness, he resolved himself to the situation and decided that if this was his life, he had better get used to it. So he got up and opened his door, and he leaned against the door jam and watched.

Neither of his parents noticed him there, they just kept on fighting, and the more Peter watched, the angrier he became. Finally, after his mom threatened divorce, Peter had had enough. He didn't say anything, he just stepped out into the hall, slammed his door behind him, thus announcing his presence, and glared at them.

His mom was still crying, and his dad looked mad, drunk, and ashamed. He yelled at Peter for slamming the door. Peter retorted that his dad slammed the front door all the time. The hit came out of nowhere.

Peter was knocked to the ground where he sat, seething and holding his jaw. The front door slammed and Peter looked around. His mother was still standing in the hallway crying, and his father was nowhere to be seen. The sound of the car starting and pulling out of the driveway proved that he had fled the scene.

Peter remembered sitting there for a few more minutes, trying to calm down, then he remembered standing up and storming to the bathroom, passing his mother on the way. He slammed the bathroom door shut, locked it, and examined his jaw in the mirror. It hurt, but it seemed fine. He splashed some water from the sink onto his face to sort of shock himself into control, then he got a drink of water and stepped back into the hallway.

His mother was still crying; she'd sunk down to the floor and now leaned against the wall with her head in her arms. Peter watched her for a moment, trying to decide whether or not he should try and comfort her. Then he stepped over her and went into his room, closing the door behind him. He remembered deciding that his dad had hit him and his mother had ignored him. So he was done with them both.

* * *

Peter remembered that he stayed out of the house for as long as possible when he got a little older. He remembered that he would spend hours at the library, do odd jobs around the neighborhood, or simply walk through the park doing nothing. Anything but go home. He remembered going home late a lot.

Sometimes he was lucky and only his mother would be there when he showed up. She would yell at him for being out so late and then she would cry and sometimes hit him for it, then he would go into his room and read his books until he fell asleep. Sometimes he wasn't so lucky, and his father would be home, and he would yell at Peter for being out so late, and Peter would get mad and they would fight late into the night, and Peter would be punished a bit. Sometimes Peter was very_ un_lucky, and his dad would be home _and_ drunk, and they would fight late into the night and Peter would be punished more severely, gaining a bruise or two.

* * *

One such night when Peter came in a little after midnight, he realized it was one of the unlucky nights. His parents were in the living room, apparently in the middle of a fight. Peter's mom saw him in the door and burst into tears, then turned and made her way down the hallway where the sound of a door slam made it known that she wouldn't be joining in the rest of the fight anytime soon.

Peter's dad stared at Peter for a moment, obviously drunk and not completely there. Finally, he seemed to realize it was Peter.

"Where you been?" He demanded in a slur.

Peter leaned against the door. "Library," he answered quietly.

His dad snorted. "Library..." he repeated. Then he looked at Peter. "What'chu doin' at the library?" he demanded again.

Peter bit his lip. "Homework," he said simply.

"Homework!" His dad repeated. "Wha' time iss it?"

Peter checked his watch. "After midnight," he said.

"When'sschool geddout?" His dad asked, his words blurring together.

"Three," Peter answered.

"Ssso you been doin' homework sssince three?" His dad asked.

Peter nodded.

"Boy," his dad said. "You gotta be sstupid if you think I'm gonna b'lieve you been doin' homework for... nine hours."

"Either that," Peter said in a rare moment of recklessness. "Or I've got to be stupid to need nine hours in which to complete said homework."

His dad stared.

Peter gave a half-smile. "Either way, we both agree I've got to be stupid. Now, unless there was anything else...?"

He waited for a minute and then, when his dad didn't say anything, he smirked at his father and moved to pass him and head for his room.

The smirk must've been overkill, 'cause with a jerk, Peter felt the three new books he'd borrowed from the library leave their safe place under his arm.

He turned around and tried to grab them back, but his dad just shoved him to the ground and began ripping the pages out and throwing them on the floor. Peter stood stunned as his books were destroyed, and the covers thrown down with the hundreds of pages littering the carpet.

As Peter stared at the ruined pages of his books, he was suddenly slapped across the face. He stumbled back a few steps and turned to his father, who apparently wasn't finished punishing him yet.

That night, Peter had the most unlucky night he'd had so far.

* * *

The librarian was kind and understanding, and since Peter could no longer take his books home, she set up a special system, where he would officially check out the books so no one else could borrow them, but she kept them in her desk until he asked for them.

At the house, however, Peter now had nothing to keep him occupied, and so more often than not, found himself staying even later at the library. And when he stayed late at the library, his mom or his dad stayed up late to catch him when he came home. When it was his mom, she would accuse him of rebelling against her, and she would yell and scream and cry. When it was his dad, Peter was unlucky.

* * *

Peter remembered life changing drastically when he was sixteen, and he came home late one night to find the house empty. All of his mom's things were gone, and there was a note in which she said goodbye to Peter and his father, and explained that she'd had enough and was moving back home.

Peter's dad was nowhere to be found, but the broken picture frame containing their wedding picture suggested that he'd come home, found the note, and he'd either left the house to go chase after her or he'd left the house to go get drunk.

* * *

Peter remembered waking up in his room at three in the morning four days later, to hear his dad swearing and cursing the front lawn and his mother and the front door and his mother and the keyhole and his mother and the end table he stubbed his toe on and his mother for buying the end table. Peter sighed. It seemed the days of quiet were over.

* * *

He remembered his relationship with his father getting worse and worse, they fought almost every night, the night more often than not ending with a new bruise for Peter.

Peter remembered one night, after a particularly bad fight, when he'd decided to get drunk. There was plenty of alcohol in the house, his dad had cases and cases of beer. Peter hated the way his dad was when he was drunk, but Peter wanted to numb the pain and forget his misery, and he wanted to rebel, so he went for it.

He took a tentative sip, and immediately spit it out. It was nasty. He sat and stared at the can for awhile, almost deciding that it wasn't worth it. But then he remembered how angry he was at his dad, and how much his side hurt, and how alone he felt, so he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and took a big gulp of the stuff.

He'd never had any alcohol before, so by his fourth can, he was out like a light.

* * *

He remembered waking up in the morning with a splitting headache. The early morning light filtering through the curtains made his head pound like a hammer, and he rolled over and threw up.

Once he had everything out of his system, he sat up and rubbed his head. Why people made a habit of this was beyond him. But it had done it's purpose. Peter had been unconscious all night, no insomnia, thoughts, or nightmares had plagued his night.

He cleaned up the four empty cans and washed that area of the carpet. Then he returned the case of beer to its rightful spot and went to his room to get ready for the day. It was summertime, so he didn't have school to worry about. But he had a part-time job at the library, and then he wanted to practice his music, so he got dressed, took some acetaminophen for his headache, and stepped outside.

He remembered his headache getting a thousand times worse by the glare of the sun, so he hurried to the library to get out of the bright light.

He remembered stepping into the library and saying good morning to the librarian, and her asking if there was anything wrong.

He remembered shaking his head. "Headache," he'd said as an explanation.

"I'm Irish, Peter," The librarian said without looking up at him.

Peter paused and looked at her, confused. He knew she was Irish. She'd told him before.

"I grew up in Ireland," she continued. "My father was Irish, my mother was Irish, my six uncles were Irish, and my nineteen cousins were Irish. Every holiday, we'd have a big family reunion, and we'd celebrate together. Then, when I married, me and my husband moved out here to America. We opened an Irish pub. It's still there, I sold it when my husband died, and moved out here to Connecticut to start a new life, as it were."

Peter stood for a moment. "So...?" He prompted.

The librarian looked up at him with a half-smile. "So I know the Irish flu when I see it."

Peter froze, caught, then he gave a sheepish grin.

The librarian smiled. "I'm not going to pry into your affairs," she said. "I'm not going to demand you tell me what you did, who you did it with, why you did it, any of that stuff. I'm also not going to tell you to stop, or even that you _should _stop. All I'm going to say is you're a smart boy, Peter. Make sure you know what you're getting into. Remember, every choice is a fork in the road, every decision is a step down either path. Make your decisions wisely, and you won't find yourself on a road you regret. And Peter, not all footsteps are made to be followed."

Peter looked up at the librarian, who smiled sadly. "Some people go down dark paths," she said. "Don't follow them. Hate can make you do horrible things, Peter. Don't hate. Man was made to love, Peter. Strive for love. Love brings freedom. Understand?"

Peter nodded, then smiled. "Yes," he said. "Thank you."

* * *

Peter never drank alcohol again. And what's more, he decided to heed her advice, and he strove to love. One good thing that came from his "Irish flu" was he now had a bit of sympathy for his dad, and began to take care of him sometimes. He wouldn't go as far as to say he forgave him, but they stopped fighting so much, and they even began getting along sometimes.

* * *

Peter remembered his mom showing up at the front door one morning, with a briefcase full of divorce papers, a lawyer by her side, and a fiancee waiting in the car. Needless to say, Peter's dad wasn't very happy about that.

He signed over willingly enough, although furious, then he went out and got drunk.

Peter remembered the following months as the worst and most painful times of his life.

* * *

He only had fragmented memories of those months, a flash of light and a pain in his head sometimes, he remembered his dad coming at him once, a wild look on his drunken face. He remembered when his dad threw a plate at him and Peter didn't duck in time, the plate shattering across his arm as he tried to block his face.

* * *

He remembered when he graduated high school. He remembered looking out at the crowd of people there, proudly supporting their family members. He remembered being disappointed that his parents weren't there, even though he had known they wouldn't be.

* * *

He remembered moving out of his dad's house, getting a small apartment of his own. He remembered getting a job, he remembered taking music and art lessons at the community center.

* * *

Perhaps his most complete memory was the one that changed his life the most.

He remembered being out late, very late. He remembered walking to his apartment, at three or four in the morning, and he remembered seeing his dad stumbling from a bar towards his car. Normally, when his dad was drunk, he walked home, and picked up the car the next morning after sleeping off the alcohol. But as Peter watched, his dad pulled his keys out of his pocket, and began fumbling to unlock the door on the drivers side.

Peter sighed and crossed the street, walking towards the car.

"Hey dad," He remembered saying as he drew near. He wanted to make sure not to startle his dad. His dad turned to Peter and stared at him for a moment. Then he seemed to realize who it was.

"Pe'er," he said, slurring heavily. "Wha're you here in this hour to sssaying?"

Peter remembered being grateful that at least his dad wasn't feeling very violent.

"Walking home," Peter said. "Want me to drive?"

"Nah, I gossa gas me up in the keys," his dad said.

"Here, give me the keys, and you go sit shotgun," Peter ordered.

His dad lurched forward heavily, and Peter caught him. Then he helped him over to the other side of the car and into the passenger seat before returning to the driver's side and starting up the car.

"Pe'er," his dad said.

"Yes, dad?" Peter answered absently.

"Pe'er, I love you," his dad said. "Yer my sssson, and I been bad as a dad and sssorry to sssaying this. Yer my ssson. I sssorry need sssaying this..."

Peter paused, the car engine running, but not yet out of park. Finally, the lump in his throat seemed to go away, and Peter managed a small smile. "That's alright," he said. "I forgive you. I love you too, dad."

"Sss good, ssss good," Peter's dad said. "I sssorry, Pe'er. Thank you..."

Peter shifted the car into reverse and pulled out of the parking lot, and began the drive home.

* * *

For awhile, his dad muttered illegibly, while Peter drove in silence. But then, as they approached a busy intersection, his dad began yelling in fright at some unseen foe, and he flung himself on top of Peter and grabbed the steering wheel.

Peter remembered yelling at him to stop, slamming down on the brakes, the blinding light of headlights shining directly into his face, a searing pain all over his body, and then darkness.


	4. The Story of Davy

_Author's notes: I am so, so sorry that it took me this long to update! I promise, I won't do that again, to the best of my ability. This chapter was extremely hard for me to write, I seriously wrote three different versions, and I hated every one of them, before I scrapped the whole thing and decided I needed a break for awhile. I came back to it I think four days ago, and I have been struggling to write it for most of that time. Like I said to a friend of mine, "I wonder why it's so hard for a relatively poor girl who was raised in America by both parents to write about a relatively rich boy who was raised in England by his grandfather. There must be some sort of disconnect there."_

_But, I finally got it to a place that I'm alright with it, and I know where I want to go with his next chapter, so you shouldn't have to wait so long again._

_I am, however, extremely busy during summertime, so I won't be able to post as often as I would if I were writing this during the fall and winter months. Bear with me, I will update as often as I can. In the meantime, if you're still following this, thank you so much for putting up with my unannounced hiatus. It means a lot to me. Please enjoy the chapter! :)_

**_Warning: Mild child abuse._**

* * *

"Once upon a time, there was a very small boy who lived in a very large house. This very, very small boy was four years old, and his name was Davy Jones."

"Hey!" Davy exclaimed playfully, picking up a pillow and throwing it at his sister Constance, who was telling the story. "I'm not very small!"

"Yes you are," Davy's other sister, Julia, piped in. "You're the smallest out of all of us!"

"That's because I'm the youngest," Davy protested. "I'll get bigger!"

"You're still very small for your age," Constance teased. "You're going to get bigger, yes. But not by much."

"I'm not too small!" Davy said again.

"David, my dear boy," Grandpa Jones spoke up from his desk in the corner of the study, where he was pretending not to be amused by the conversation taking place. "I'm sorry to inform you that you are indeed very small."

Davy sighed dramatically and sat back. "Fine," he said. "Go on, Constance, tell the story."

"Thank you," Constance said. "Davy lived in the big house with his Grandpa Jones and his two sisters, Constance and Julia. Constance was nine, and Julia was seven. They also had a very old cat named Viktor."

"Why is Viktor named Viktor?" Davy suddenly asked, turning to where the cat was sitting on the biggest and softest armchair, watching the children lazily.

"Because that's what Grandpa Jones wanted to name him," Constance said. "Now, listen to the story."

"But I want to know!" Davy insisted. "Grandpa Jones, why did you name him Viktor?"

"I named him Viktor because I like the name," Grandpa Jones said. "There doesn't have to be a reason for everything, Davy."

"Why not?" Davy asked.

"This little boy named Davy," Constance continued as if there had not been an interruption. "Was very small, and he was very curious."

"Was not!" Davy said.

"Was so!" Julia shot back.

"He was not!" Davy insisted.

"Do you even know what curious means?" Constance asked.

Davy huffed. "Who says I have to know?" He said. "It's bad and I don't have it."

Grandpa Jones laughed. "Curiosity, David," he said. "Just means that you always have to ask why. You can't ever just accept that things are there without reason. You want to know how they work and what they do and what they sound like and what they look like if you take them apart."

"Oh," Davy said. "That's alright."

"Thank you," Constance said. "One day, Davy wondered what it would be like to live on the ceiling instead of the floor."

"Live on the ceiling?" Davy echoed. "Why would someone live on the ceiling?"

"So they could look down on everyone else," Julia said with a giggle.

"No," Constance said. "Just because it would be fun, and Davy wondered what it would be like."

"What _would_ it be like?" Davy asked, looking up at the ceiling in curiosity.

Grandpa Jones sighed dramatically and stood up. "Since it is becoming increasingly apparent that I am not to be permitted to work, we might as well try out a little experiment."

"What's an exper... experment?" Davy asked, standing up along with Constance and Julia, as Grandpa Jones left the room.

"An experiment is when you try something new," Constance said. "To see how something works, or why it works the way it does."

Davy smiled. "Oh," he said. "That sounds fun!"

"Yes," Julia said. "How are we going to experment on living on the ceiling?"

"With mirrors, dear Julia," Grandpa Jones said, returning to the room carrying several mirrors and handing one to Julia. He also handed one to Constance and one to Davy, and he kept the biggest one for himself.

"Hold them under your chin, like this," Grandpa Jones said, and the children complied.

"Now," said Grandpa Jones, smiling at the children with a twinkle in his eye. "Look down."

Davy looked down into his mirror and gasped. "It's the ceiling," He said in awe.

Julia giggled. "This is fun," She said. "It's like the ceiling is the floor!"

"Come along, children," Grandpa Jones said. "It's time to go on an expedition!"

"What's an... exedition?" Davy asked.

"It means you go exploring," Constance explained, as she began to follow Grandpa Jones, keeping a watchful eye on her mirror.

They explored the second story, the hallways and the bedrooms and the guest rooms and the playroom, and then Grandpa Jones made them put their mirrors down as they walked down the stairs and into the first story, where they explored the dining room and the parlor and the sitting room and the foyer, but they couldn't explore the kitchen because the cook got mad and told them to leave before they messed anything up.

Then they made their way back up to the study, where the mirrors were put down, and Grandpa Jones gave each of the children a piece of hard candy and told them to go play in the playroom so he could finish his work.

As Davy put his candy in his mouth and followed his two sisters out of the study, he paused and looked up at the ceiling, thinking about Constance's story.

"Constance?" He said, running up to catch up with her.

"Yes, Davy, what is it now?" She asked.

"Why do we live in such a big house?" Davy asked.

"Because Grandpa Jones doesn't want to move to a smaller one," Constance said.

"Why not?" Davy asked.

"Because he's lived here since he was a little boy," Constance said.

"Why?" Davy asked.

"Because this is the house Grandpa Jones' parents bought when they first got married," Constance said.

"Oh," Davy said. "Why did they buy such a big house?"

"Because they were rich," Constance said.

"Are we rich?" Davy asked then.

Constance sighed patiently. "No," she said. "But Grandpa Jones is. He's got a lot of money, that his parents left him when they died."

Davy thought on this. "Constance," He said. "Why don't we have any parents?"

Constance frowned. "Because, that's why," she snapped. "Now go away and stop asking me so many questions."

With that, Constance ran to her bedroom and slammed the door, leaving Davy confused, wondering what he had said to make her angry.

"It's not your fault," Julia said, coming up and taking Davy's hand. "Constance just isn't in a very happy mood right now."

"Oh," Davy said, looking at Constance's door worriedly. "Should we go cheer her up?"

"No," Julia said thoughtfully. "I think she just wants to be left alone right now."

Davy sighed. "Okay," he said. "Julia?"

Julia groaned. "What now?" She said.

"Why does candy make your tongue green?" Davy wondered.

* * *

"JULIA!" Six year-old Davy yelled, running through the front door and sliding across the freshly waxed foyer floor. "Julia, where are you?"

Julia came and stood at the top of the staircase. "Davy, I'm writing a letter to Constance," she said. "What do you want?"

Constance, who was now eleven years old, was at Boarding school, and Julia wrote her a letter every week, as did Grandpa Jones. Davy was too young to write letters, but he always drew a picture for Constance and sent it along with Julia's letters.

"Is she well?" Davy asked, momentarily distracted from his mission.

"Yes," Julia said. "She says school is very fun, and her new friends like your pictures."

"That's nice," Davy said, running up the stairs to join her. "Maybe I should draw more."

"What is it you were yelling about?" Julia asked as they returned to the playroom.

"Oh, right," Davy said. "I was just wondering, because Thomas at school asked me, why do you and Constance have a different last name?"

Julia looked at him. "What do you mean?" She asked.

"I mean," Davy said. "My last name is Jones, like Grandpa Jones. You and Constance's last name is Greene. Why? We had the same dad, right?"

"Yes," Julia said with a frown. "I don't know why we have a different last name. I never thought about it before."

"That's what I said to Thomas," Davy said. "But now I'm curious."

"Let's go ask Grandpa Jones," Julia suggested.

And so the two children made their way to the study and knocked on the door.

"Come in," Grandpa Jones called, and Julia opened the door.

"Hello, children," Grandpa Jones said with a smile. "What brings you to my study?"

"Well, we were just wondering why Davy has a different last name than Constance and I," Julia said.

Grandpa Jones lost his smile. "What brought this about?" He asked.

"Well," Davy said. "Thomas Milligan asked me, and I'd never thought about it before."

Grandpa Jones sighed. "It's about time you knew," he said. "I just... I never forgave that scoundrel. I don't like thinking about him, let alone talking about him."

"Who?" Davy asked.

"Your father, Edward Greene," Grandpa Jones said with a sigh. "A snake of a man if I ever saw one. He was all sly and cunning when he met your mother, he sweet talked her into believing he loved her. I was against it, but she was set on seeing him. They eloped, by the time I found them, they were married."

"What's eloped?" Davy asked.

"It means you run away to get married," Grandpa Jones said. "So that you don't have to make plans and so that you don't have to tell your parents."

"Oh," Davy said, frowning as Grandpa Jones continued.

"I couldn't do anything against him then," he said. "So I set them up in a house of their own and I gave your mother her inheritance, and for awhile, everything was fine. Constance was born, and they were fine."

"Then what happened?" Julia asked.

"By the time you were born, my dear Julia," Grandpa Jones said. "Edward had taken up the bottle. Of course, I didn't hear of it until years later, but he began drinking away your mother's inheritance. And I suspect he was hurting her, too."

"Hurting her?" Davy exclaimed, jumping up angrily. "Why!?"

Grandpa Jones let a small half smile quirk the corner of his mouth. "It's alright, Davy," He said. "It's all over and done with now. You had better be careful, or that temper of yours will get you into trouble someday."

Davy sighed and sat down. "But why would he hurt our mother?" He asked. "She was beautiful." He had seen pictures of his mother before, and he liked to look at them. His mother had lovely eyes, and a smile that Grandpa Jones said Davy shared with her.

"Because, David, my boy," Grandpa Jones said with a sigh. "Sometimes, people can be very cruel. Not everyone has a good heart, like you do."

"Do I have a good heart, Grandpa Jones?" Davy asked.

Grandpa Jones smiled and leaned over. "Davy," he said. "You have the best heart in the world."

Davy smiled. "That's good," he said. "I don't want to end up mean like Edward."

Grandpa Jones chuckled, then sobered. "Your mother didn't come to me until he had bled her dry," he said. "She was pregnant with you, then, Davy. She left him."

"Serve him right, the... scoundrel," Davy said, repeating the word he'd heard his grandfather say at the beginning of the conversation.

Grandpa Jones chuckled. "Yes," he said. "He didn't like that very much. But Margaret had come home by then, and I helped protect her until a divorce could take place. Edward finally had no choice but to leave town, or risk being taken to court, which was something he couldn't afford, having spent all of Margaret's money and he didn't have a penny of his own."

"So, by the time you were born, David," Grandpa Jones said. "Your mother was a free woman again. That is why your last name is Jones and Julia and Constance's last name is Greene. Does that make sense?"

Davy and Julia nodded.

"I remember him, I think," Julia said. "Him and Mum. I remember them."

"Yes, you were young when all that happened," Grandpa Jones said. "Let me think... I believe you were... three years old when it happened. Constance remembers the most, I think."

"How did mum die?" Davy asked.

"Well..." Grandpa Jones said. "That's a story for another time, Davy, maybe when you're a little older."

Davy sighed dramatically. "I'm not a baby," he said. "I'm six years old! I think I can handle it!"

Grandpa Jones laughed. "I don't think you're a baby, David," he said. "I just don't think you're ready for that story quite yet. And that will have to be enough for now."

Davy sighed again. "Fine," he said. "Let's go, Julia."

"Alright," Julia said. "You can come into the playroom with me. You can draw a picture while I finish Constance's letter."

The two children went back to the playroom, and as Davy looked at his paper and began drawing, he thought of how pretty his mother looked in all the pictures he'd seen of her.

Then he thought of their family, him and Grandpa Jones and Constance and Julia and Viktor, so he decided to draw their family. Maybe Constance was homesick, and the picture would make her feel happy.

So that's what he drew.

* * *

"Julia! For heavens sake, stop sliding down the banister!" Grandpa Jones said as he came out of his room, dressed in his suit and hat, slipping his gloves onto his hands. "Why, you are almost eleven years old, and a lady to boot! You are far too old to carry on so!"

"But Davy's doing it," Julia whined, and Davy stopped and looked up at his grandfather, tilting his head, wordlessly wondering if he would also be told to stop.

Grandpa Jones looked down at Davy, and there was a twinkle in his eye. "Yes, well, Davy is only eight," He said. "I think he's got a few more years left in him."

Davy grinned and turned to the banister, which he proceeded to slide down, much to Julia's chagrin.

Her mood soon dissipated, however, when Grandpa Jones reached the front door and stepped out. Davy and Julia followed him out onto the grounds, and in their excitement, clamored around him, asking questions.

It was the day that Constance would be returning from her second year at Boarding school, and the children had planned all sorts of activities to do together when she returned.

"Children, children!" Grandpa Jones said, waving his hands to get some space. "For heavens sake, calm yourselves! I will return with Constance when I return with Constance! In the meantime, please! Try and stay out of trouble!"

But he was smiling, and they knew that he was just as excited to see Constance as they were. They hadn't seen their sister since the Christmas holidays, she had spent the Easter break over at a friend's house.

As he got into his car and pulled away, Julia and Davy ran back into the house, where Julia found their grandfather's old pocketwatch and timed Davy as he tried to see how fast he could run up the stairs and then slide down the banister.

They soon gave this up when Davy got tired, and instead went up to wait in Davy's room, where they could sit and watch for Grandpa Jones' car through Davy's window.

Finally, it seemed, the familiar car came into view, and the children raced down the stairs to greet him, Davy sliding down the banister just to spite Julia.

The two children reached the front door just as Grandpa Jones opened it, and they barrelled out, launching themselves at Constance, who shrieked. "Goodness!" She said. "Get off me!"

Davy and Julia laughingly obliged, and Constance straightened her hair. "Oh, it's so good to be home!" She said. "I mean, I love school, and I can't wait to go back, but oh, it's so good to be home!"

"David," Grandpa Jones said. "Be a gentlemen and help me carry Constance's bags up to her room, please, while she goes and freshens up."

"Yes sir," Davy said happily, running up to the biggest suitcase, which he tried to lift, only to have it tip and fall on him; he was still small for his age, although when teased about it, he obstinately maintained that he would get bigger. They all laughed as Grandpa Jones picked up the suitcase, and Davy got up with a grin.

"Why don't you try one of the smaller bags?" Grandpa Jones suggested, and Davy obliged, picking up the smallest bag, which was still surprisingly heavy.

"Gee, Constance," He said, struggling as he carried it to the front door behind Grandpa Jones. "What's in here? Bricks!?"

Constance giggled. "Wouldn't you like to know," she said primly. Then she leaned over and whispered something to Julia, who widened her eyes for a moment and then giggled.

Davy blinked in confusion, before looking up at his grandfather, who was chuckling. "It's best not to even wonder," he said. "The female mind is a very strange thing."

Davy turned to look at Constance and Julia once again, as Constance tripped over nothing and burst into spasms of giggles.

"Yeah," He said, turning back to the house. "Very strange."

As the weeks passed, Davy found himself wondering what had happened to Constance. She would lock herself in her room for hours, reading letters from her friends and writing them letters in return, giggling over some undisclosed secret that the letters brought with them. When she did venture into the rest of the house, it was just for meals or to go through the foyer on her way out into the town, and after the first few weeks, to the parlor to entertain her newly made friends whenever they came over.

Whenever Davy talked to her, she would let out a long-suffering sigh and roll her eyes before answering, and very often cut him off partway through the conversation and tell him that she had things to do, so couldn't he be a good little boy and run along?

Once, while Constance was having tea at a friend's house, Davy asked Julia why Constance was acting so different. Julia just told him that it was because Constance was grown up now and was more interested in friends and boys than she was interested in spending time with her little brother.

Davy had asked what was so special about boys, and Julia had giggled, much to Davy's annoyance, and told him that he wouldn't understand.

More weeks went by, and still Constance didn't return to her old self; she continuously ignored Davy and even sometimes Julia, and she spent most of the summer out of doors, with other young people around town. After her thirteenth birthday, she got even worse, and resorted to whining and pouting whenever Davy tried to talk to her at all.

Then, about a week before Constance was due to leave for school, Davy was complaining that he had hardly seen her, and Grandpa Jones suggested asking her to take him along for the day, as she was planning to go to the carnival with one of her friends and their family.

So Davy made his way to Constance's room and knocked.

"Who is it?" Constance called from inside.

"It's me, Davy," Davy said, and the door opened.

"Davy, not now," Constance said. "I need to get ready to go and I don't have time for your pestering."

"I just, well," Davy started. "I've hardly seen you all summer, so I was wondering, could I maybe come to the carnival with you?"

Constance looked surprised. "You want me to take you with me?" She asked.

Davy nodded. "If it's not too much trouble," He added.

"Actually, Davy, it is," Constance said. "I can't be bothered to look after you all afternoon. I'm going to be busy with Linda. We won't have time to take you to the kiddie rides, or make sure you don't get into any trouble."

"I won't be any trouble," Davy promised. "You don't have to take me to the rides, I'll be good, you won't even know I'm there."

Constance sighed. "I don't want to look after you, Davy," she said. "Maybe Grandpa Jones could take you to the carnival some other time. I just want to spend some time with my friends for now."

Davy huffed. "That's all you ever have time for, these days, is your friends," he said. "You care more about your friends, and... and boys, than you care about me."

"You know that's not true!" Constance said, frowning. "I just can't cancel all my plans and cater to your whims anymore. I have a life of my own now, if you want some attention, go make Julia read you a story or something. I'm busy."

"I don't want attention!" Davy exclaimed. "I just want to spend some time with you!"

"Well, I don't want to take you to the carnival with me!" Constance returned. "So you'll have to go bug someone else!"

Grandpa Jones stepped up behind them. "What's going on?" He asked, frowning. "You children know better than to fight."

"Davy won't let me alone so I can get ready," Constance said. "He keeps bugging me."

"Am not!" Davy exclaimed. "Grandpa, I just asked her to take me to the carnival, and I said I'd be good, and she wouldn't have to take me on any rides, and I would just stay with her, but she said no!"

"What's this?" Grandpa Jones said. "Constance, don't you think you're being a bit unreasonable?"

"No!" Constance said. "He's been trying to tag along with me all summer, and I'm sick of it! Every time I have plans to go somewhere, he's whining that I'm not bending over backwards to do what he wants! He's driving me mad!"

"Constance, now really," Grandpa Jones said. "All the boy wants is to spend some time with you before the holiday is over. You were gone for a very long while, dear. Why not take him along with you, just for the day?"

"This isn't fair!" Constance whined. "You're making me take him to the carnival with me? Why can't I just have one day for myself?!"

"You've had a lot more than one day," Davy shot at her. "You never play with me anymore! You're just selfish!"

"I am not!" Constance exclaimed angrily. "I just want you to go away and leave me alone for once! All you ever do is whine and cry and pester, you're just a baby!"

"Constance!" Grandpa Jones said sternly. "That is not how you speak to your brother!"

"You always take his side!" Constance said. "You just like him best because he's a boy and he's the littlest and he has your name!"

"Young lady, that is enough!" Grandpa Jones said. "If this is how you're going to behave, you will not be permitted to go to the carnival with your friend!"

"What!?" Constance exclaimed. "That's not fair! We've been planning this trip all week!"

"No matter," Grandpa Jones said. "Until you can learn to be polite and respectful, I can't trust you to go out with your friends."

"Please, Grandpa Jones," Constance continued, beginning to cry. "Please, let me go to the fair! I'll do whatever you want when I get back, I'll help Cook with the dishes, I'll help Julia make her bed, please, I have to go to the fair!"

"No," Grandpa Jones said. "This isn't about you doing chores, Constance. You were very disrespectful to your brother, and you were very disrespectful to me. I hate to punish you, my dear, but you cannot treat people with disrespect and then expect to get away with it! There are consequences for your actions!"

"But that's not fair," Constance said again. "You're the worst grandfather in the world, nobody else is that strict!"

"Well, I'm sorry to hear you feel that way," Grandpa Jones said. "But your saying so will not get me to change my mind. To the carnival, you will not go. Not tonight, at any rate."

With that, he walked back into his study and closed the door, and Constance fell to the floor, crying in earnest.

Davy looked on in remorse. He hadn't meant to get Constance in trouble, he had just wanted her to take him to the carnival, he had just wanted to spend time with her.

"Constance," He said quietly. "I'm sorry. Really, I am! I didn't mean to get you in trouble."

"Oh, why don't you shove off!?" Constance snapped angrily, standing up. "This is all your fault! Go away, leave me alone! I don't ever wanna see you again!"

"Constance, I said I was sorry," Davy said. "Please don't be mad at me! I didn't mean for you to get in trouble, honest!"

"Oh, don't lie to me, Davy," Constance said. "Don't say you didn't mean for me to get in trouble! Why'd you have to go and tattle, anyway? I can never have any fun without you ruining it! You ruin everything!"

"I do not," Davy said, feeling hurt and guilt and anger all at once. "I don't ruin everything! It's your own fault you don't get to go to the fair! You're the one who was saying mean things to me!"

"You do too ruin everything," Constance yelled through her tears. "You ruined my trip to the fair with Linda, you've ruined my fun all summer long, and you ruined our family! It's your fault that dad left and mum died!"

Davy froze. "...What?" He asked.

"Dad didn't want you," Constance yelled. "He didn't want another baby! He and mum started fighting when you came along, and they started yelling at each other, and she said that she hated him, and that she had to leave because of you! Everything's always been about you! Dad left because of you! And then Mum died when you were born, she died because of you! You ruined our family, you ruined it! We were happy before you came along, and now dad's gone, and mum's dead, and it's ALL YOUR FAULT!"

With that, Constance slammed the door shut and Davy stood there in silence, as the sound of sobbing came from the other side. He stood there for a few moments, and then...

"David, my boy," Grandpa Jones said softly, and Davy turned around to see that Grandpa Jones was standing in the doorway of his office. "Come in here, please," He said.

Davy numbly walked over to Grandpa Jones and looked up at him. Grandpa Jones reached down and picked him up.

Grandpa Jones carried him into the study and shut the door, then he walked over to the arm chair in the corner and sat down with a sigh.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes.

"When your mother came to my house," Grandpa Jones said quietly, after a long while. "With Julia in one arm, holding Constance's hand, and you in the middle, not yet born, she looked so tired. And all she said was "I have to do what's best for the baby." She didn't need to say anymore, I knew what had happened."

Davy looked towards the window, saying nothing.

"She moved into this house, along with your sisters, and your father tried to get her back. He tried everything, but she would not go back, not because of you, but because of him. He was a bad man, Davy. He did horrible things to her, and she finally had enough. She didn't leave him because of you. She left him because it was the right thing to do."

A single tear made it's way down Davy's cheek, and he wiped it away harshly. He was no baby. Boys didn't cry.

"Your father left town, not because of you, but because of me. I made him leave town. Then, your mother lived here until it came time for you to be born."

Davy bit his lip. Here it came.

"Having a baby is very hard work," Grandpa Jones said. "My wife, your grandmother, she died when your mother was a little girl. She was having our second child, a son that was to be named after me. They both died."

Grandpa Jones stopped for a minute and swallowed, then continued with the story. "Your mother had a very hard time. I think... I think Greene did something to her, I think he hurt her, it caused complications."

In the back of Davy's mind, a spark of curiosity arose at the long word, he wasn't sure what it meant. But the spark didn't get much bigger, he was too upset.

"Your mother tried very hard," Grandpa Jones said. "She heard you were a boy, she said you were to be given my name, she heard you cry for the first time, and she smiled. Then..."

Grandpa Jones stopped again, and Davy looked up. Grandpa Jones was crying.

Davy blinked a few times, Grandpa Jones was the strongest, best man that Davy knew. If he was crying... then it must be alright, sometimes, to cry. If something was sad, maybe it was alright.

"...She died," Grandpa Jones finished. "Not because of you, Davy. Sometimes, things like that just happen. It's not your fault. I never, ever suspected that Constance... that she would think... If it's anyone's fault, it's mine," He said suddenly. "Without your grandmother to raise her, I did the best I could. Perhaps if I had been a bit more strict with her... maybe she wouldn't have... maybe she would still be..."

Davy was crying now too. "It wasn't your fault either, Grandpa Jones," He said earnestly. "It... it wasn't your fault, and it wasn't... my fault either. No matter what anybody says!"

Grandpa Jones nodded. "Yes," He said, as if he were trying to reassure himself. "Yes, you're right. It's neither of our faults." he sat silent for a moment. "I do love you, David," he said. "I love you very much, and sometimes, I might spoil you a bit. And I shouldn't, I know I shouldn't. But you're so small, and so spirited, and sometimes, I look into your face, and I see your mother smiling up at me. I can't help but give you what you want, you are so like her... and it's not fair to the others, and I know that, but... oh Davy, I don't know what I'd do without you..."

And so they sat and cried together for a long time, before Grandpa Jones saw the time on the clock and decreed that they must freshen up and go to to dining room or they would be late for lunch. He had a tray sent up to Constance's room, as she was still upset, and Julia seemed to sense the high tensions, and after lunch, she went into her room and shut the door.

The afternoon was quiet, and when dinner came around, Constance joined them in the dining room. She avoided looking at Davy, and glared at her plate all night. The meal was somber, and the rest of the night went the same.

The next day, Grandpa Jones took them all to the carnival, and bought Constance everything she looked at, in a silent plea for forgiveness, for keeping her from the carnival the day before. They all had a fun day, but it became apparent that Constance was determined not to speak to Davy, and so the day ended on a bitter note.

* * *

Davy kicked a small pebble as he walked down the street toward the candy store. Constance and Julia had both left for boarding school three days earlier, and since Davy's school didn't start for a few more days, he found himself terribly bored and alone.

True, Constance had been avoiding him like the plague ever since the carnival incident, but Davy had never been the only child in the house before, and he missed Julia's company very much. She had been uncommonly nice to him recently.

With no one to talk to or play with, Davy had been spending quite a bit of time with his grandfather, who loved to spend time with him, but was very busy, and had finally given Davy a nickel to buy a candy stick from the store two blocks away from their house.

As Davy walked up to the store, he saw a man across the street, leaning against a car, staring at Davy. The man made Davy shiver for some reason, so Davy tried to ignore him and stepped into the store.

He took his time picking out the candy stick, finally settling for a cherry one. He paid for the sweet, and began sucking on it as he stepped back outside.

The man was gone, so Davy put him from his mind and began the walk home.

As he walked, he thought about Constance and Julia. He was going to write Julia a letter every week, like she had done for Constance, and Davy was trying to decide if he should write one for Constance as well.

He decided against it; she didn't seem to like him anymore, and she might get mad if he sent her letters.

Suddenly, the car he'd noticed earlier pulled up beside him, and the man leaned out of the window. "Hey there, kid," the man said. "Have you seen a lost dog around here anywhere?"

Davy was startled, he knew he wasn't supposed to talk to strangers, and he'd already been nervous about this man. But he also was supposed to be a gentleman, and gentlemen didn't walk away without answering a question.

"N-no," Davy said. "I haven't seen any dogs."

"Are you sure?" The man asked. "Come here, let me show you a picture."

Davy shook his head, taking an instinctive step back. "I'm sure," he said. "I haven't seen any dogs. Goodbye."

He turned and started walking away, only for the car to pull forward a little more.

"Are you Old Man Jones's grandson?" The man asked.

Davy nodded, and then kept walking, as fast as he could without out-and-out running.

He heard the sound of a car door being opened, and he looked behind him-

The man scooped him up quickly, and Davy let out a gasp and started trying to pull away, kicking and thrashing, dropping his candy stick as the man grabbed his wrists with one hand. He covered Davy's mouth with the other and didn't let go, even when Davy bit him, and ran back to the car as a woman across the street saw them and started screaming.

The man tossed Davy into the passenger seat as he stepped on the pedal, and they were off.

Davy started crying, and the man glanced at him. "Cut that out," he ordered. "You be a good little boy and don't make a scene, and then I won't have to hurt you. Got it?"

Davy choked on his tears and nodded, trying to stop crying, but he only found himself even more frightened. After a few moments, the man seemed to get sick of his fruitless attempts to stop. "I said to cut that out," He growled. "Don't make me punish you, kid."

Davy wiped his face hurriedly, with the back of his hand, and choked a few more times, finally getting the tears to stop for the most part. Then the man started swerving and tearing through the streets, and Davy had to grab onto the seat to keep from falling as he lurched.

They drove like this for awhile until they left town, and then the man settled into a normal speed. Davy looked out the window, feeling desperate as everything familiar sped behind him.

"Tell me your name, kid," the man said suddenly.

"D-Davy," Davy said hurriedly, and the man nodded.

"They named you after Old Man Jones, then." he said. "Figures."

Davy sniffled, and then nodded. "I have his name," he said. "I'm Davy Jones."

"WHAT!?" The man snapped, making Davy flinch. "That's not your name!"

"Y-yes it is," Davy stammered. "They named me after Grandpa Jones! I'm Davy Jones!"

"No!" The man said. "You're name isn't Jones, it's Greene!"

Davy blinked. "You mean, like my dad?" He asked. "My mum divorced him before I was born. My name is Jones."

The man shook his head, agitated. "No," he said. "No. They can't do that! You're name is Greene!"

Davy started to get angry, his emotions already high. "My name is Jones!" he said. "Grandpa Jones said it was and he wouldn't lie to me! Edward Greene was a horrible man who hurt my mother, so she left him, and my name is Jones!"

The man suddenly reached out and slapped Davy, who let out a cry and recoiled against the seat, holding his face as he started to cry again.

"DON'T YOU DARE SAY THAT AGAIN," the man yelled. "I never hurt Margaret, she had a fit over nothing, and went crying to the Old Man, when she should've kept her pretty little self in the house where she belonged!"

Davy choked, realizing who this man was. "You're..." he whispered. "You're my dad?"

The man nodded. "She left me," He muttered. "She had no right to leave me. She's mine. She stole my girls and ran off to her old man. The meddling fool. He should've left us alone, he shouldn't've protected her. They stole everything."

Davy managed to stop crying again, and he looked up at his father as the man continued to ramble.

"I had to leave town. But I knew it wouldn't be long before I could come back and take what was mine. The old fool stole my wife and my girls. I won't let him keep my son away from me. No, he's mine, and nobody else can have him. He's mine."

Davy drew up against the seat, growing more frightened as the man muttered to himself. "What're you gonna do to me?" He asked quietly.

"What'd'ya mean?" His father demanded, giving him a look. "You're mine. You're gonna come with me and do what I say. That's what."

Davy shuddered, an act that didn't escape his father's notice.

"Look here, Boy," he said. "Don't go acting like I'm the bad guy here. You're my son, and you'd better do as I say! Now, stop acting like a baby or you're gonna get it! Understand!?"

Davy nodded, and bit his lip to keep from crying again. He turned and looked out the window until the emotional turmoil of the day caught up with him and he drifted off to sleep.

The next several days were a nightmare to Davy. His father drove until they reached a cheap-looking hotel in Leeds, where he took Davy into a small room that smelled bad, and closed the curtains, locked the door, and didn't let Davy out.

The first night they were there, his father spent the entire time writing something down and then crumpling the papers and throwing them away. In the morning, he put one of the papers in an envelope and left, telling Davy that if he so much as tried to escape, he wouldn't even make it out of the hotel before his dad would find him and punish him.

When he came back, he had a bag with some greasy food in it, and gave it to Davy for breakfast. Davy didn't like it, and he was too scared to be hungry, but his dad stood over him and made him eat it all.

After that, his dad would go out every morning and then again late at night, and bring food back for Davy. It was always gross and cold, but he would make Davy eat it all. Whenever he was gone, Davy would sit on his bed and cry, wishing he could go back to living with Grandpa Jones, and wishing that his dad had never come back at all.

When his dad was at the hotel room, he would pace back and forth in the middle of the room, casting glances at the door, and going to peer behind the curtains every once in awhile.

He only ever talked to Davy to give him a command, and he never called Davy by his name, referring to him only as Boy. "Boy, be quiet." "Boy, come eat your dinner." "Boy, stop your sniffling." And whenever Davy disobeyed, his dad would hurt him. Sometimes he would slap him on the face, sometimes he would shake him by the shoulders, sometimes he would shove him to the ground.

Most of the time, Davy spent the whole day sitting in the middle of his bed, trying not to look too upset so his dad would ignore him.

Then, eight days after he was kidnapped, he was sitting on the bed, crying. It was late at night, and his father was out getting dinner, when the door burst open and several adults with guns came storming into the room.

Davy cried out and shrunk against the headboard of the bed, and the adults stopped.

"It's alright," One of them said quietly, taking a few small steps forward and holding out his hands. "It's alright, Davy, I won't hurt you."

Davy choked on his tears, trying to stop crying, but he couldn't.

"Davy," the man said again. "Davy, I'm not going to hurt you. Can you tell me, is the man who kidnapped you still here?"

Davy shook his head, and the other adults all visibly relaxed, putting their guns away.

The first man held his hand up to them, though, and they didn't come any farther into the room. "Davy," he said. "My name is Julian. I'm a policeman, I've been working with your grandfather to try and find you."

Davy sniffed. "Grandpa Jones?" He asked.

The man nodded. "Your grandpa is very worried about you," he said. "Can you let me take you back to him?"

Davy bit his lip, then shook his head. "Stay away," he said. "Don't touch me!"

The man looked anxious. "Davy, are you hurt?" He asked. "Did that man hurt you?"

Davy hesitated, then nodded. "He hit me and shook me and pushed me down," he admitted.

"I promise," the man said. "I won't hurt you. Can you come to me, Davy? We can take you home, and call a doctor to make sure you aren't hurt. Can you do that for me, Davy?"

Davy hesitated, and then slowly climbed down from the bed. The man knelt down to the ground until he was at eye level with Davy, and then held perfectly still as Davy walked over to him cautiously, ready to run if the man tried to take him.

Julian smiled softly when Davy reached him. "See?" He said. "I won't hurt you. I'm gonna stand up now, okay? And then we're gonna go drive to your house while my friends search the room for your dad, okay?"

Davy nodded, and Julian stood up. The other men moved past them, and Julian started walking slowly to the door. Davy walked alongside him, and as they stepped through the doorway, Davy paused. His dad had said that if he tried to escape, he would be punished.

Julian paused as well, looking down at Davy. Davy swallowed, and lifted his hand, taking Julian's hand in his. He felt a little safer, if Julian was with him, his dad couldn't hurt him.

They walked through the hotel and into the parking lot, where several police cars were parked. Julian led Davy to one that was different than the rest, and opened the back door so Davy could climb in on his own. There was a lady in the car, who smiled at Davy and gave him a blanket. Julian got in the drivers seat, and they took Davy home.

As the car pulled into the familiar driveway, Davy saw Grandpa Jones run out of the house, leaving the door wide open as he ran to meet them. Julian stepped out and opened Davy's door, and Grandpa Jones reached in and pulled Davy out, gently but quickly, and then he held him close. He squeezed his eyes shut, and Davy realized he was crying.

"Oh, Davy..." He just kept saying. "Oh, Davy..."

They made their way back to the house and Davy was put to bed immediately. A doctor was called, and Julian stayed, talking to Grandpa Jones and a few other policemen that were there. The doctor announced that Davy was alright, and Grandpa Jones had let out a deep breath then. "Oh, thank heavens," he said. A little while later, the report came in that Greene had been found and arrested, and Davy immediately felt much better.

All the excitement caught up to him again, and the immeasurable relief at being safe and in his own bed, with Grandpa Jones right beside him, made him feel very tired, and he held onto Grandpa Jones' hand tightly as he fell asleep, just to make sure he was real.


End file.
